Because who doesn't love a fat lipped fish?

Aside from a restaurant to the west and a shopping area to the south, we're pretty much limited to heading east if we want to go anywhere (besides friends' houses) on foot. There's a route we go that limits time on the main road through town, but it means we sometimes walk behind buildings and their perimeter fences. This past Saturday was beautiful, so we took a stroll down to get some cake (cake!!) and noticed this guy for the first time:

Also, do you know what today is? Happy Winter Solstice! Yes, it does mean the first official day of winter, but more importantly, it means from here on out the days will be getting longer! Hip hip hooray!!

And with that, Peleke and I are headed north again today for the holidays (and to finally pick up The Beast!). Wish us luck in all the snow up there :)

Cookies... continued

So we finally finished all the baking! Overall, I'd say it was mostly a success, but I'll be happy never to see a tub of crisco again. I also think I'll be laying off the sugar for at least a week! We chose our six favorite decorated cookies for this (blurry) photo:

What? You can't see? Let me show you some close ups. Here we have a nice snowman... standing in a suspiciously yellow puddle:

Above him, his neighbor is plotting the demise of the batch:

To his left, a snowman Cartman wanna-be is further increasing the evil barometer:

Ahh Christmas!

Sunday adventures

We've been "church shopping" for months now with marginal success. Today we went to the base chapel to see what it had to offer. On the way in, we stopped at a cozy little sitting room type chapel because I was drawn in to a room filled with these:

Stained glass, rainbows, and clear, cool Sundays. Nice. So was the service.

We decided to make Christmas cookies today after church. We made three different kinds with varying degrees of success. The peanutbutter cup cookies were perfect. The molasses sugar cookies have yet to be baked (though we don't know why they have to sit in the fridge for a few hours anyway). The sugar cookies (for frosting decoration) have been the biggest adventure so far. We're pretty sure one cookie will have you drop dead on the spot from a coronary (crisco anyone?). On the upside, the pan didn't need greasing! Unfortunately on one sheet, a snowman took a boot to the head:

I know, it's hard to tell it's a snowman. A number of cookies on the first sheet became amputees. Then a snowman went postal with the gun Peleke made on the next round. Two words: mass carnage.

The trick, apparently, is to take them off the sheet as soon as they come out of the oven. Cookie crumbs anybody? We'll be sure to show you the frosted cookies that make the cut (and maybe watch for us on Cake Wrecks!)

Because who doesn't love the Muppets?

More good humor

Advent Conspiracy

2008:

2009: looks like the message is getting out!

cooking like Paula Deen

Good thing we're finally home where we can spread out and finally cook our own meals!

Grilled cheese sandwiches count, right? We did actually try to make them in Alabama, but the bread fused to the pan (despite copious amounts of butter), and left us with grilled cheese sandwiches you practically had to eat with a spoon. High class livin'.

By the way, does anybody else find it as amusing as we did that our English muffin bread has, well, a muffin top?

After all, we DO live in the Redneck Riviera!

Peleke and I laughed so hard we were crying last night at CakeWrecks. We also had a good laugh at FailBlog (of course). I can't even begin to tell you the funniest cake wrecks, but this was my favorite fail:

It reminded me of the display in front of Bass Pro we saw a few weeks ago...

I want a "Poo-dolph" t-shirt in the worst way!

A light rant

I've always found it difficult to get into the Christmas spirit when it's not cold and snowy. The first time I remember being somewhere warm for Christmas was in California when I was nine years old. We were living on the boat, so this posed two problems- how does Santa get around without snow and how would he get into the boat? Maybe I didn't believe in Santa by that point, but I think the questions are still valid.

Anyway, as I've gotten older and spent more time in warmer climates around the holidays, I've always found it fascinating to see what people decide to decorate. It goes beyond the rooflines, fences, and trees. I think without snow enabling the end goal of a few inches softly lit from below by small colored lights tastefully strung up, the new goal becomes bright! lights! scenery! lookitlookitlookit! I see fire hydrants, mailboxes, cacti, cars, dog houses, and whatever else happens to be near a light socket (though sometimes not even that). And then I guess when they run out of things, people start putting lit up deer, trees, nativities, santas, and various woodland animals. The "snow globe" decorations flabbergast me. So imagine my amusement when out of the heavy fog we've had over the weekend, I looked off the balcony to see this:

Our local water tower has become a victim. I find it funny, actually, because in all the recent fog, it looked like a hovering, alien-green blob.

I admit it, I'm a Christmas light snob. While you probably don't have much pull in the weather department, you do have a lot to do with how your yard is decorated. Tacky or spartan (or not at all, for that matter!), just do it right. None of these trees that have been lit up only around the trunk or look like you just did a Spidey throw and hoped that all the lights would get caught in the branches! And how do you convince yourself that only decorating half of the house (and not necessarily contiguously) is also ok? Splurge and buy one or two more strings of lights so that your entire roofline is lit up (not with alternating colored and white lights either).

Unless you have hemianopsia, all these "let's decorate half" people just don't have a reason. Please, for the love, don't arbitrarily decorate only half of anything with Christmas lights!

My favorite is the conductor

Somebody has too much free time in Texas!

Shh, don't tell them how much I love sushi!

One of my favorite medibloggers wrote this short piece worth a read:

The problem with "free" health care.

PSI

I feel like it needs to be stated (again) for the record: People, by and large, soap is not inherently clean! You have to scrub with it! Soap works by allowing oils to dissolve in water and then be rinsed away. It doesn't actually kill anything by merely coming into contact with it (with the exception of some hospital soaps maybe, but even then you still have to scrub)! So scrubba dub dub!

Go read something.

Rain

I'm really looking forward to going home tomorrow (even if it's only for a week). We could use the space and breathing room!

Lions and tigers and bears- oh my!

Meet Shere Khan, Leo, and Baloo. Way cool.

Let there be music!

I may have an inkling of how the human body works, but Peleke eviscerated my car a few weeks ago so that I can hook up the ipod or computer to the stereo. Awesome!

Crossing Tallapoosa Street

So long warranty, it was nice knowing you. May the spontaneous combustion of my car begin...

Strange

On all the buildings around here, there are signs clearly stating we're in FPCON alpha, bravo, or whatever. I figured it was some sort of security designation but couldn't figure out what it stands for. The only CON I know is College of Nursing, and I'm pretty sure that's not what it's saying. Peleke says it means Force Protection Conditions and is indeed telling you what level of security the base is functioning under.

Now I want to know why it's not just FPC or even FPCon.

Makin' stuff up

While I don't enjoy Christmas music before Thanksgiving (and only incrementally thereafter), it isn't really one of my pet peeves. I can understand why a lot of people feel that way, but I have to admit sneaking in a Christmas song or fifty throughout the year.

I heard the Carol of the Bells on the radio a few days ago and of course it wasn't the original- you don't hear that one on the radio much. But I wonder, what is it about the Carol of the Bells that inspires people to make up and substitute their own lyrics?

Happy December!

When you give a comfortable breaking distance as you tootle along down the highway behind a car, why do other drivers assume that you are, in fact, inviting them to cut in front of you? And what is it about the sight of that much distance that translates to these other drivers to mean your car is going slower than the other, when in fact you're going just as fast and merely just a safer distance behind?

Having driven waaaaaay to much this past month as we've crisscrossed the Midwest and South (with no slowdown in sight), I feel very qualified to pose these questions. So why?

You know you wanna

Hobble hobble

Our kitchenette hasn't done much in the way of encouraging healthy eating habits here, but I think we haven't actually been doing too badly. Last night we lost all control, though, and not only drove out to dinner but drove seven miles away to a Popeye's. In our defense, the base is surrounded by old housing projects and some really suspect "businesses." Seven miles was more of a safety precaution. As for why Popeye's, well, I have no excuse.

But it was good... and I had a leftover butter-saturated biscuit for breakfast. Feeling remorseful, I ran for another hour this afternoon through this (sadly poor picture quality, but hey, it's a cell phone after all):

With this as my soundtrack:

The chicken and biscuits were definitely worth it!

Ouch

The Beast was hit by a car yesterday evening. She's fine, I promise, but hearing those words were awful. Amazingly enough, she only has some bruises and road rash after full xrays and thorough checks from the parents and vet. My parents say she's been walking around with her tail half mast, but the limp is gone and she even chased after the ball.

Erica said it right. This dog has nine lives! Good Lord, Gazza, haven't we gone through enough??

My mom sent this picture this afternoon. She was watching a train go by.

Distractibility

So there's a problem at the church we've been visiting back home. Actually, it's my problem, but it's a tough one.

Twice now we've randomly sat a few pews behind a man and his wife. I couldn't tell you what he looks like, but I'd recognize the back of his head a mile away. You see, he has a bald spot exactly the shape of a pair of lungs- complete with the curve on the left side into which the heart fits nicely.

I cannot concentrate on anything else. I keep thinking about how the thinning hairs near the trachea would be like cilia. Help.

Run

My relationship with running is ambivalent at best. My earliest memories of organized running, if you can call it that, are ones that included feeling sick (and a few cases of throwing up afterwards). Not exactly inspiring. But I still remembered how good it felt to run as a kid- stretching my limbs and moving fast. I figured there was still some merit to it all and periodically got into running clubs or ran with friends. Not surprisingly I was never very good. Then, after seven knee and a minor heart surgery,* I had more reasons not to enjoy running. Quite frankly, I was scared of it by that point.

It's been over the last three years that I've entertained the idea again. Rarely timing myself (heart rate is more important after all), I've tried to set aside my own harsh self-judgements and competition to concentrate on enjoying it. That's right, I want to be one of those smiling runners. So I vigilantly monitor my legs impacting the ground for wobbles and pain. I slow down when my heart rate is uncomfortably high. I refuse to huff and puff so hard that it's no fun. And those are the times that my peripheral vision blurs and I begin to enjoy the ride.

There was a sermon the other day at church about angels. I'd never really heard much about angels in any sort of biblical study before. The pastor talked about how seraphim are actually a class of angels who exist only to praise God. Immediately I thought of how I've imagined hiking with God just walkin' along with a pack beside me and how cool that would be. So to think of wandering around with a herd of angels wasn't that much of a stretch.

As I ran along a pretty stretch of road at home one evening, I imagined them running alongside of me. We were all taking in the stunning sunset over the Gulf of Mexico and pretty white sand beaches. Yesterday evening, they were back again with me on a dirt road through the golf course admiring the pastel sunset** over the hazy woods and settling dusk. A cardinal flashed by, reminding me of Indiana, and a small rabbit hopped along a few feet next to me. It reminded me of desperately trying to pack in the fun on waning summer nights with neighbors. A squirrel seemed to be watching the swollen river run by us, now safely tucked in between its wooded banks (temporary ponds still dot the golf course and threaten the roads after all of the rain, but most of the roads themselves are out from under the flood). Some hawk was calling from the sky. It reminded me of the ones that call out to the canyons in the Southwest.

An hour of running later, transient bilateral knee pain, one heart palpitation, and African dust gritty in my tennis shoes, we sprinted home, thanking God for such a gift.

*An EP study with ablation isn't open heart surgery. In fact, it's a procedure in which you're only moderately sedated and they access your heart through large veins in your groin and neck. However, tell the person lying on the operating table with multiple wires threaded into their beating heart and the possibility of a permanent pacemaker that it's "minor."

** Alabama has no shortage of these. In my opinion, they've been rivaling Arizona's.

Questions that keep me up at night

What is it about bananas that makes them so difficult to correctly simulate the taste? Conversely, what is it about pears that makes it so easy?

still breathing

It's the same old thing- when there's nothing big to talk about, you find yourself with lots to say of minimal importance. When things get busy, there's too much to say of note so it ends up coming out like a five year old's rendition: an'nen we did this an'nen we did that an'nen we tried to do somefing an'nen we went to sleep!

So at the risk of being that five year old, here's the skinny:

After enjoying Peleke's early return and quiet time in Michigan, we had two days together back home to enjoy biking, eating sushi, and generally being our socially avoidant selves. In short, it was awesome. Then he took off again for the great state of Alabama, and I joined him here until mid-December.

Alabama isn't as bad as I'd been led to believe. Now, that's not to say it's a thrilling place to be either, but the weather has been mostly pleasant, the base is pretty, and our room is nice. I'm determined not to take those things for granted (dearth of social opportunities and a job notwithstanding). Most of all, it's still really great to be close to Peleke again. Poor guy is swamped between his training and his other schoolwork, but it's only for a few more weeks.

We've been doing a lot of driving with no slowing down in the near future. On the drive up, the speed limit creeping up from 50 mph to 70 mph, I found myself feeling pretty anxious. I realized that while I had driven on Beaver Island and then around home for a week, I haven't driven much and definitely not very fast. The thought of 50 being speedy is comical, I know, but it felt uncomfortably so. I'm still getting reacquainted with my hunk of metal.

As Peleke does homework, I've been doing more driving than usual for our road trips (read: more than ten minutes). He's learned first hand of my aversion to crunching Corn Nuts (only to be used in dire stay-awake situations!) and was a good sport to the Pat Green, Jeff Black, and John Denver ballads streaming steadily from the radio. I know, he's a saint. I won't lie, though-I won't miss all this time in the car.

In other news, I'm finding this place interesting. For the sake of blogging, I've deemed it RAFB (Random Air Force Base). More on it later. Right now I'm going to raid our dorm style fridge and attempt a walk without getting trampled by the random hoards of running airmen in blue and orange that have taken over the campus today...

Beaver Island photo dump: round one

The week and a half my mom and I spent in Michigan is best told in pictures. Most of you have seen the Facebook link with them, so here are the highlights for those of you who haven't:

mostly nice weather but beginning to get colder and rainier

ironing leaves between wax paper- remember doing that?

making apple sauce

leaves across the lake turning colors

fishing with the hula popper

Gazza wasn't too keen on the dinghy

hiding

in their respective spots

dogpile

There was a lot of sleeping, eating, reading, and puzzle doing going on!

Up to the highest height

Yesterday was beautiful. The past week has been made up of blue skies, warm days, cool nights, and relatively tourist-free living. I found myself saying, "This isn't so bad after all!" Then Peleke reminded me how miserable the summer was. So while it is that bad in the summer, this time of year ain't half bad!

We went to a church class in the morning with the intention of going to the service afterwards, but I firmly believe even Jesus would have skipped out on church to go play outside on a day like that! Gorgeous. So we packed some water and grapes and went out to the island to fly kites.

As a side note, neither of us had heard anything about Hurricane Ida and were surprised this morning to hear of her impending landfall in our neck of the woods. Oops. At least we're out of the way at the moment! Guess there's something to be said for watching the news and reading the paper...

Calling names

Growing up on and around sailboats, I was only partly aware of my avoidance of stepping on the seams between the concrete slabs of the dock but very aware of the sense of unease I got from walking on the wood plank edging. They were often slick and the height of the pier to a kid seemed more than it probably was, so walking along the edge of the dock was a small thrill. Lying there was a different story, though. My sister and I spent untold hours on our stomachs with our arms hanging over the sides, scraping our nets along the underwater portions of the docks and dumping the results into a bucket to comb through. In the Northwest or Caribbean, it didn’t matter- the creatures were mysterious and fascinating. We freely shared our finds (crabs, worms, limpits, etc) with random folks on the dock, the sailing community being friendly that way.

One rainy afternoon in some long forgotten port in the Pacific Northwest, my sister and I were walking back to Foggy Mountain, yellow slickers snapped shut and hoods pulled up. Stepping in the coils made by random ropes and hoses, I was surprised to hear somebody call my name. Looking back through fat raindrops at the men busy with something on the dock, one of them waved and said hello to me. Confused, my seven year old mind tried to place him. Did he know my parents? It was likely enough, but no, he denied knowing them. In fact, he asked if I knew why he knew my name at all. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember my sister calling me back to our walk. He smiled and laughed as we turned away. Then he called out to me, “it’s written on the back of your rain slicker!” I remember laughing.

I have no doubt he was just a friendly soul looking to brighten a little girl’s day. Besides, some of our things were labeled growing up- including life jackets and rain slickers. The memory gives me a vague sense of nostalgia for the “good ol’ times” when you could send a kid into the harbor in safety.

Fast forward twenty years.

The longer I work as a nurse, my name and title clearly printed next to my picture, the less often I’m caught off guard by random people addressing me. But sometimes it still does surprise me, a relative stranger directly calling my name. Then the foggy memory of that day hovers on the fringes of my mind- a soft breath of Northwest air in the dry, sterile hospital.

Oh baby!

Words cannot describe how happy I was to hear that Anicette, one of the cleft palate babies aboard the Africa Mercy, had her surgery. When I saw the pictures, I couldn't help tearing up just a little. In my mind, Hubert and Anicette will forever be linked. They were together in the same ward for a time while I was there and, I'll be honest, I thought if anything that the results would be the other way around. So for both of these babies who faced incredible odds...

Way to go Ani!!

I would give almost anything to pick her up (she's got fat on her now!) and snuggle her fuzzy head.

Oink oink

I got my flu shot today, figuring my poor immune system is sufficiently regenerated enough to actually respond appropriately. So we'll see. Even though I still sometimes get the flu, I get the regular one each year because I think it's worth the tiny risk inherent with injecting dead things into your body.

I am a little concerned about the flu shot I got today, though. The dude was efficient (I barely felt it) and even pretty funny about the whole thing, but I noticed that he A) didn't aspirate and B) injected my shoulder joint. I suppose inoculating my shoulder is better than straight up injecting flu vaccine into my arterial blood supply, but neither is preferable really.

So if I get the flu, I may be miserable and achy, but I fully expect my shoulder joint to be ache-free!

Next up? Swine flu vaccination tomorrow...

(how swine flu is really spread)

Home again home again!

Ahhhh, it's nice to be home. Peleke is off again for the week, but it has been great to fall asleep with the full moonlight streaming in the windows and then waking up to sunlight, a cool breeze through the open window, and the birds filling the air with happy songs.

And the distant thud of shells hitting the range. Whatever.

Ticks and tricks

There are no ticks on Beaver Island. I’m not quite sure I believe it myself yet, but that’s what they say. Before the wedding, I took The Beast to the Indiana Dunes where she acquired seven or so of those horrid tagalongs. If I never have to feel for those telltale lumps again (not to mention find their creepy little bodies on the floor and in my bed), I’ll be happy. So letting her run wild here on the Island with one less thing to think about suits me just fine thankyouverymuch.

Still, I’ve been lobbing the ball with the Chuckit in the driveway here because the ferns and duff make finding balls a bit difficult. She finds enough reason to run through the woods without me launching the ball in that direction. My aim with the Chuckit is a bit off though (I’d blame the busted ribs but I’ve been known to bean random people at the dogparks with my shots). As the dogs ran down the dirt and pine driveway last week, the red ball landed in a branch. Gazza and Rudy combed the area thoroughly, oblivious to the ball above them. Go figure it’s one of only three small branches that tower above the long driveway. I could never hope to land it there if I tried (as evidenced by the futile throwing of rocks to knock it loose). I expected the wind to knock the ball down, but it spent a few nights up there, swaying peacefully in the breeze, until Peleke got it down with some well-placed rocks and sticks.

Before the ball stranding, though, I'd been enjoying the quiet morning with Gazza and Rudy. I happened to glance to my left at one point and was delighted to see two long spiderweb strands- and I do mean long! The reached from the bottom branches of the pines to nearly the forest floor. The seeming impossibility of that from what was (hopefully) a small spider prompted me to step in for a closer look. After one step, I realized what I was actually seeing was a fascinating optical illusion of similarly impossible likelihood.

Three tall pine trees in the shadow of the woods lined up perfectly so that the two parallel to the road tightly framed the third, which stood a few feet further back. They have grown so tall and straight that from just the right angle and with the sun filtered through the leaves just so, the thinnest glimmer of pure light shone through on either side of the furthest tree. Those parallel slivers of light reached from the lower branches to the ferns looking like two long shimmering spiderweb strands.

Crazy.

Deep discussions being had on Beaver Island

Peleke

This would be a great place to build a plane except for having to ship all the parts over by plane or ferry.

Wenikio

That would be cool. Would you really want to do the test flight on an island though?

Peleke

What do you mean?

Wenikio

I’m sure you’re a conscientious builder and all, but what if something happened? Like a wing fell off?

Peleke

Um, if a wing fell off, I don’t think it matters if you’re over land or water.

Touche.

Most of you know this by now (and apparently many of you knew before I did anyway...), but Peleke is home early. AWESOME.

So you'll pardon me for being silent awhile. Regular posting to return next week :)

Squashed

As you drive East, the blue Lake Michigan waters shimmering in the distance, there’s a charming sight on the packed dirt road back to the cabin. A fairly nondescript plot of land sits on the south side of the road, hemmed in on three sides by tall trees. There’s something about the trees on Beaver Island that I have yet to put my finger on. They’re certainly not old growth, my dad thinks they might be second or even third generation growth, but they are tall. The woods are full and soft from the thick layer of duff covered immediately by the sea of ferns and then higher up by the branches dancing in breezes enjoyed only by birds and leaves. Under the branches currently garbed in colorful but tattered splendor, birds dart in the shadows, sometimes disappearing down beneath the brown ferns. If you stand quietly, you’ll hear them all calling. The mysterious life under the ferns is being exposed this month by their withering. I wonder if the mice and smaller creatures ever feel deceived by this show of fragility by the very things that gave them thick cover all summer.



These beautiful woods cover most of the island and of course surround the piece of land along the road home. A John Deere tractor sits by the driveway for $200. There’s the house set in back of the lot. The building up closer to the road is adorned with horseshoes and various clutter of life. There’s a garden in back that must provide the furnishings for the rickety table at the side of the road. Rain, hail, or shine, acorn and butternut squash have been placed out every day we’ve driven by. A clear plastic container with its top cut off serves as the donation box, a clunky old piece of hardware weighting it down from the winds coming straight off Lake Michigan.

My mom and I have been buying the squash and savoring them. They are big, colorful, and full of fall flavor. They still have some dirt on them, and I can’t get enough of just feeling their pleasant shapes and smooth skins in my hands. I realize how much I’ve missed them and already mourn their passing days. Each year I conveniently forget how much I really love squash until it’s sitting there on the plate in front of me. That sounds admittedly strange coming from an American who is rapidly approaching Thanksgiving in the Midwest.

As I reheated some of the fresh squash the other night for a midnight snack, I watched the bowl spin around in the microwave. I couldn’t help feeling a little sad, like the process of microwaving took some of the essence of the squash away. Directing high concentrations of anything (especially types of energy) towards another thing is vaguely disconcerting to me.

No, I’m not going to start eating raw foods or even stop using the microwave, it’s just that I do wonder at the marvel of modern eating. And there’s something about fall that stirs longings. Sometimes it’s for people, sometimes it’s for the past or future, and sometimes, well, sometimes it’s just for squash.

Rethinking

Sometimes I happen to write a batch of emails (putting it that way makes something personal sound so impersonal) at the same time about recent thoughts and experiences. I don't want to "cut and paste" emails, though, because there are subtly different things I would or wouldn't mention to people. The past few months I've felt a little guilty that more indepth emails to particular people overlap quite a bit, and then when I go to blog, much of what was said in email ends up on this blog too. If it's any consolation, rest assured that you "lucky" email recipients got the thoughts first :)

As I was writing last night, it occurred to me that be the situation as it may, I also appreciate the duplicity. I find multiple tellings help give me different perspectives of whatever experience or thought may be described. I suppose on some level I anticipate the recipient's reactions and tweak the rendition accordingly. It's definitely not as dynamic as an actual interaction, but it's enough to prompt some thoughts I might not have had if I had kept it to myself.

And that, dear friends, is a big reason why I have this darned thing in the first place. So thanks :)

I craved to go beyond the garden gate
follow the road that passed it by
and set out for the unknown.

~Alexandra David-Neel

For a few weeks one summer in college, my best friend and I camped and drove her convertible up from Arizona along the Pacific Coast Highway (HW 1) up to Seattle. It was a pretty trip with few showers and many postcards written with the help of fire and wine! The gate in the above picture was somewhere between Los Angeles and San Francisco. It's one of my favorite pictures of the trip.

We took a more direct route home (after a detour through McCall, ID). It was twenty-two hours straight of driving. The Killers CD was stuck in the player since Jess was sleeping, and I wasn't about to change it with cliff on one side and canyon on the other in the middle of the night. To this day I have vivid memories of driving through canyonlands in the wee small hours of the morning when I hear Hot Fuss. Ahh college memories...

Snow in the forecast? For real?

On Beaver Island without phone or internet. Niiiice. Will post pictures and stories when we get home next week. Until then, enjoy the silence. I know I am!

I’ve been accused of being immature

"I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, and that enables you to laugh at life's realities."

~Theodor Seuss Geisel (AKA Dr. Seuss)

Hopefully not

Have you ever noticed that every flight is a "designated nonsmoking flight"? It begs the question, are there any designated smoking flights?

My new favorite word

Jejune:
1. Lacking nutritive value
2. Devoid of significance or interest
3. Juvenile, puerile

Perfect fall weekend (minus a few key characters)

The past six days have been a haze of sleeping, eating, and wandering around in a fog. My health is getting undeniably better, so we're moving in the right direction. The dog has even forgiven me for leaving her to suffer two long months with my doting parents and their happy two dogs. She's slowly recovering from the horrors of having to cuddle with them every morning and play ball on the grass field across the street every day. She's also off the Prozac!

I went up to Michigan with my dad this past weekend. I'd like to tell you how wonderful it was, but the truth is I don't remember half of it. The flight up was pretty- we flew by a full rainbow and over the beautiful fall colors of Manistee National Forest.

Once we got to Beaver Island, we enjoyed a really good lunch at the meeting hall where the local restaurants were selling their best meals. Mmm- ribs, enchiladas, red cabbage, and pumpkin cake washed down with freshly pressed apple cider! Leaving the hall overlooking St. James Bay, we walked down to the old dusty truck in the parking lot. Most of the roads on B.I. appear to be unpaved, so dust is everywhere and nobody seems to mind.

The road to the cabin is bumpy and littered with apples. Apple trees grow wild up there, and it's apparently peak season. We collected a huge tub of fresh red apples (Mom made them into apple sauce and apple crisps). The whole trip was a quintessentially American fall scene.

As we pulled up to the cabin, I was struck by the utter silence and crisp, fresh air. I could have stood there for hours letting the nothingness soak into my bones. Instead, we checked everything out and headed inside. I promptly fell asleep on the couch with the fire going and music quietly playing. When Dad got back from fishing, we both went out for a quick evening trip around our end of the lake, complete with moonrise!

We pulled up to the cabin at dusk and tied up the dingy before heading inside. As Dad studied, I fell asleep again reading on the couch. Do you notice a pattern here?

Have no fear- I also slept soundly all night. Aside from a bird flying into a window at some point, the night was dark and silent. Perfect. We got up early to go fishing, small rain showers keeping us company. I got a couple nibbles (I even saw one of them- a large mouth bass!), but didn't actually catch any of them. Next time.

We sat through two small rain episodes, but as the third one began we agreed that it was here to stay. We motored quietly back and then secured everything outside. Dad checked the weather while I tried to photograph the state forest across the lake through the binoculars:

Sadly we had to go back home that morning. I could stay up there for months, if not years! Good medicine.